Adaptation, Mack Reynolds [red white and royal blue hardcover TXT] 📗
- Author: Mack Reynolds
Book online «Adaptation, Mack Reynolds [red white and royal blue hardcover TXT] 📗». Author Mack Reynolds
"Are you insane!" Mayer squirmed in his chair. "Did you read this radiogram? They've squeezed out all my holdings in rubber, the fastest growing industry on the western continent. Why, millions are involved. Who do they think they are?"
Kennedy put down his glass and chuckled. "See here, Amschel, we're developing this planet by encouraging free competition. Our contention is that under such a socio-economic system the best men are brought to the lead and benefit all society by the advances they make."
"So! What has this got to do with MacDonald and Buchwald betraying my interests?"
"Don't you see? Using your own theory, you have been set back by someone more efficiently competitive. Fred and Peter saw an opening and, in keeping with your instructions, moved in. It's just coincidence that the rubber they took over was your property rather than some Genoese operator's. If you were open to a loss there, then if they hadn't taken over someone else could have. Possibly Baron Leonar or even Russ."
"That reminds me," Mayer snapped, "our Honorable Russ is getting too big for his britches in petroleum. Did you know he's established a laboratory in Amerus? Has a hundred or more chemists working on new products."
"Fine," Kennedy said.
"Fine! What do you mean? Dean is our man in petroleum."
"Look here, if Russ can develop the industry even faster than Mike Dean, let him go ahead. That's all to our advantage."
Mayer leaned forward and tapped his assistant emphatically on the knee. "Look here, yourself, Jerry Kennedy. At this stage we don't want things getting out of our hands. A culture is in the hands of those who control the wealth; the means of production, distribution, communication. Theirs is the real power. I've made a point of spacing our men about the whole planet. Each specializes, though not exclusively. Gunther is our mining man, Dean heads petroleum, MacDonald shipping, Buchwald textiles, Rykov steel, and so forth. As fast as this planet can assimilate we push new inventions, new techniques, often whole new sciences, into use. Meanwhile, you and I sit back and dominate it all through that strongest of power mediums, finance."
Jerry Kennedy nodded. "I wouldn't worry about old man Russ taking over Dean's domination of oil, though. Mike's got the support of all the Pedagogue's resources behind him. Besides, we've got to let these Genoese get into the act. The more the economy expands, the more capable men we need. As it is, I think we're already spread a little too thin."
Amschel Mayer had dropped the subject. He was reading the radiogram again and scowling his anger. "Well, this cooks MacDonald and Buchwald. I'll break them."
His assistant raised his eyebrows. "How do you mean?"
"I'm not going to put up with my subordinates going against my interests."
"In this case, what can you do about it? Business is business."
"You hold quite a bit of their paper, don't you?"
"You know that. Most of our team's finances funnel through my hands."
"We'll close them out. They've become too obsessed with their wealth. They've forgotten why the Pedagogue was sent here. I'll break them, Jerry. They'll come crawling. Perhaps I'll send them back to the Pedagogue. Make them stay aboard as crew."
Kennedy shrugged. "Well, Peter MacDonald's going to hate that. He's developed into quite a high liver—gourmet food, women, one of the swankiest estates on the eastern continent."
"Ha!" Mayer snorted. "Let him go back to ship's rations and crew's quarters."
A servant entered the lushly furnished room and announced, "Honorable Gunther calling on the Honorables Mayer and Kennedy."
Martin Gunther hurried into the room, for once his calm ruffled. "On the western continent," he blurted. "Dean and Rosetti. The Temple got them, they've been burned as witches."
Amschel Mayer shot to his feet. "That's the end," he swore shrilly. "Only in the west have the barons held out. I thought we'd slowly wear them down, take over their powers bit by bit. But this does it. This means we fight."
He spun to Kennedy. "Jerry, make a trip out to the Pedagogue. You know the extent of Genoa's industrial progress. Seek out the most advanced weapons this technology could produce."
Kennedy came to his own feet, shocked by Gunther's news. "But, Amschel, do you think it's wise to precipitate an intercontinental war? Remember, we've been helping to industrialize the west, too. It's almost as advanced as our continent. Their war potential isn't negligible."
"Nevertheless," Mayer snapped, "we've got to break the backs of the barons and the Temple monks. Get messages off to Baron Leonar and young Mannerheim, to Russ and Olderman. We'll want them to put pressure on their local politicians. What we need is a continental alliance for this war."
Gunther said, "Should I get in touch with Rykov? He's still over there."
Mayer hesitated. "No," he said. "We'll keep Nick informed but he ought to remain where he is. We'll still want our men in the basic positions of power after we've won."
"He might get hurt," Gunther scowled. "They might get him too, and we've only got six team members left now."
"Nonsense, Nick Rykov can take care of himself."
Jerry Kennedy was upset. "Are you sure about this war, chief? Isn't a conflict of this size apt to hold up our overall plans?"
"Of course not," Mayer scoffed. "Man makes his greatest progress under pressure. A major war will unite the nations of both the western continent and this one as nothing else could. Both will push their development to the utmost."
He added thoughtfully, "Which reminds me. It might be a good idea for us to begin accumulating interests in such industries as will be effected by a war economy."
Jerry Kennedy chuckled at him, "Merchant of death."
"What?"
"Nothing," Kennedy said. "Something I read about in a history book."
VIII.At the decade's end, once again the representatives of the Genoese team were first in the Pedagogue's lounge. Mayer sat at the officer's table, Martin Gunther at his right. Jerry Kennedy leaned against the ship's bar, sipping appreciatively at a highball.
They could hear the impact of the space boat from Texcoco when it slid into its bed.
"Poor piloting," Gunther mused. "Whoever's doing that flying doesn't get enough practice."
They could hear ports opening and then the sound of approaching feet. The footsteps had a strangely military ring.
Joe Chessman entered, followed immediately by Barry Watson, Dick Hawkins and Natt Roberts. They were all dressed in heavy uniform, complete with decorations. Behind them were four Texcocans, including Reif and his teen-age son Taller.
Mayer scowled at them in way of greeting. "Where's Plekhanov?"
"Leonid Plekhanov is no longer with us," Chessman said dourly. "Under pressure his mind evidently snapped and he made decisions that would have meant the collapse of the expedition. He resisted when we reasoned with him."
The four members of the Genoese team stared without speaking. Jerry Kennedy put down his glass at last. "You mean you had to restrict him? Why didn't you bring him back to the ship!"
Chessman took a chair at the table. The others assumed standing positions behind him. "I'm afraid we'll have to reject your views on the subject. Twenty years ago this expedition split into two groups. My team will accomplish its tasks, your opinions are not needed."
Amschel Mayer glared at the others in hostility. "You have certainly come in force this time."
Chessman said flatly, "This is all of us, Mayer."
"All of you! Where are Stevens, Cogswell, MacBride?"
Barry Watson said, "Plekhanov's fault. Lost in the battle that broke the back of the rebels. At least Cogswell and MacBride were. Stevens made the mistake of backing Plekhanov when the showdown came."
Joe Chessman looked sourly at his military chief. "I'll act as team spokesman, Barry."
"Yes, sir," Watson said.
"Broke the back of the rebels," Jerry Kennedy mused. "That opens all sorts of avenues, doesn't it?"
Chessman growled. "I suppose that in the past twenty years your team had no obstacles. Not a drop of blood shed. Come on, the truth. How many of your team has been lost?"
Mayer shifted in his chair. "Possibly your point is well taken. Dean and Rosetti were burned by the formerly dominant religious group. Rykov was killed in a fracas with bandits while he was transporting some gold." He added, musingly, "We lost more than half a million Genoese pounds in that robbery."
"Only three men lost, eh?"
Mayer stirred uncomfortably, then flushed in irritation at the other's tone. "Something has happened to Buchwald and MacDonald. They must be insane. They've broken off contact with me, are amassing personal fortunes in the eastern hemisphere."
Hawkins laughed abruptly. "Free competition," he said.
Chessman growled, "Let's halt this bickering and get to business. First let me introduce Reif, Texcocan State Army Chief of Staff and his son Taller. And these other Texcocans are Wiss and Fokin, both of whom have gone far in the sciences."
The Tulans shook hands, Earth style, but then stepped to the rear again where they followed the conversation without comment.
Mayer said, "You think it wise to introduce natives to the Pedagogue?"
"Of course," Chessman said. "Following this conference, I'm going to take Fokin and Wiss into the library. What're we here for if not to bring these people up to our level as rapidly as possible?"
"Very well," Mayer conceded grudgingly. "And now I have a complaint. When the Pedagogue first arrived we had only so many weapons aboard. You have appropriated more than half in the past two decades."
Chessman shrugged it off. "We'll return the greater part to the ship's arsenal. At this stage we are producing our own."
"I'll bet," Kennedy said. "Look, any of you fellows want a real Earthside whisky? When we were crewing this expedition, why didn't we bring someone with a knowledge of distilling, brewing and such?"
Mayer snapped at him, "Jerry, you drink too much."
"The hell I do," the other said cheerfully. "Not near enough."
Barry Watson said easily, "A drink wouldn't hurt. Why're we so stiff? This is the first get-together for ten years. Jerry, you're putting on weight."
Kennedy looked down at his admittedly rounded stomach. "Don't get enough exercise," he said, then reversed the attack. "You look older. Are your taking your rejuvenation treatments?"
Barry Watson grimaced. "Sure, but I'm working under pressure. It's been one long campaign."
Kennedy passed around the drinks.
Dick Hawkins laughed. "It's been one long campaign, all right. Barry has a house as big as a castle and six or eight women in his harem."
Watson flushed, but obviously without displeasure.
Martin Gunther, of the Genoese team, cocked his head. "Harem?"
Joe Chessman said impatiently, "Man adapts to circumstances, Gunther. The wars have lost us a lot of men. Women are consequently in a surplus. If the population curve is to continue upward, it's necessary that a man serve more than one woman. Polygamy is the obvious answer."
Gunther cleared his throat smoothly, "So a man in Barry's position will have as many as eight wives, eh? You must have lost a good many men."
Watson grinned modestly. "Everybody doesn't have that many. It's according to your ability to support them, and, also, rank has its privileges. Besides, we figure it's a good idea to spread the best seed around. By mixing our blood with the Texcocan we improve the breed."
Behind him, Taller, the Tulan boy, stirred, without notice.
Kennedy finished off his highball and began to build another immediately. "Here we go again. The big potatoes coming to the top."
Watson flushed. "What do you mean by that, Kennedy?"
"Oh, come off it, Barry," Kennedy laughed. "Just because you're in a position to push these people around doesn't make you the prize stud on Texcoco."
Watson elbowed Dick Hawkins to one side in his attempt to get around the table at the other.
Chessman rapped, "Watson! That's enough. Knock it off or I'll have you under arrest." The Texcocan team head turned abruptly to Mayer and Kennedy. "Let's stop this nonsense. We've come to compare progress. Let's begin."
The three members of the Genoese team glared back in antagonism, but then Gunther said grudgingly, "He's right. There is no longer amiability between us, so let's forget about it. Perhaps when the fifty years is up, things will be different. Now let's merely be businesslike."
"Well," Mayer said, "our report is that progress accelerates. Our industrial potential expands at a rate that surprises even us. In the near future we'll introduce the internal combustion engine. Our universities still multiply and are turning out technicians, engineers, scientists at an ever-quickening speed. In several nations illiteracy is practically unknown and per capita production increases almost everywhere." Mayer paused in satisfaction, as though awaiting the others to attempt to top his report.
Joe Chessman said sourly, "Ah, almost everywhere per capita production increases. Why almost?"
Mayer snapped, "Obviously, in a system of free competition, all cannot progress at once. Some go under."
"Whole nations?"
"Temporarily whole nations can receive setbacks as a result of defeat in war, or perhaps due to lack of natural resources. Some nations progress faster than others."
Chessman said, "The whole Texcocan State is one great unit. Everywhere the gross product increases. Within the foreseeable future the standard of living will be excellent."
Jerry Kennedy, an alcoholic lisp in his voice now, said, "You mean you've accomplished a planet-wide government?"
"Well, no. Not as yet," Chessman's sullen voice had an element of chagrin in it. "However, there are no strong elements left that oppose us. We are now pacifying the more remote areas."
"Sounds like a rather bloody program—especially if Barry Watson, here, winds up with eight women," Martin Gunther said.
Watson started to say something but Chessman held up a restraining hand. "The Texcocan State is too strong to be resisted, Gunther. It is mostly a matter of getting around to the more remote peoples. As soon as we bring in a new tribe, we convert it into a commune."
"Commune!" Kennedy blurted.
Joe Chessman raised his thick eyebrows at the other. "The most efficient socio-economic unit at this stage of development. Tribal society is perfectly adapted to fit into such a plan. The principal difference between a tribe and a commune is that under the commune you have the advantage of a State above in a position to give you the benefit of mass industries, schools, medical assistance. In return, of course, for a certain amount
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